


Waltzing Matilda

by Icka M Chif (mischif)



Series: Bunnymund Holmes [4]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5 Times, Crimean War, Drunkenness, Epic Bromance, F/M, Food Poisoning, Gen, Historical References, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischif/pseuds/Icka%20M%20Chif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How North and Bunny met and became awesome Bros.</p><p>Or as Rinpin requested it, 'Five Times Bunny and North Slept Together'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltzing Matilda

* * *

“Ya tried to EAT ME!” Aster snaps at the large Cossack who is pointing down at the other side of the camp fire, demanding that Bunny go to sleep. Granted, they're both hollow-eyed from exhaustion and there are things out there that can and will gladly kill and eat them, but Bunny doesn’t trust anyone or anything. 

Not since his Clan was wiped out five years previously, for having lived for generations where the new Settlers wanted to live. Bunny had to flee not only his ancestral home, but Australia entirely. He’s not even sure where he is currently, not that it matters. One place is as good as another. 

“I apologised!” The Cossack throws his arms up in the air. “I was hungry and you look like large delicious Bunny, _da_?! Tasty!”

There’s an awkward pause as the double meaning to the Cossack's words sink in. 

…. And this is why Aster doesn’t interact with people. 

But it’s late and he’s tired. There’s been enough activity around that even sticking to the wild country hasn’t allowed Aster to let his guard down enough to get some real rest in weeks. And he’d used what spare energy he had to grow some mushrooms for them both to eat. “I still don’t trust ya.”

“I do not trust you either.” The Cossack growls back. He hasn’t, not since Aster kicked the Cossack and chewed him out for attacking like that. 

They stare at each other for a moment longer, then in silent accord, settle down on each side of the small fire, their backs to each other. 

They fall asleep with their knives pointed at each other, ready in case the other makes the slightest wrong move. 

Neither gets much sleep that night, but they don’t kill each other either.

* * *

The Cossack's name, or as much as Aster is willing to use, is 'North'. North calls him ‘Bunny’ in return, which is as good of a name as any. One way or another, they end up travelling together across the country, sniping and grumbling at each other, but not going their separate ways either. 

They somehow end up involved in the Russian War, also called the Eastern or Crimean War. They don’t mean to be, but it’s how Bunny discovers that in addition to being a crazy guy with swords, North is a healer, a ‘ _Vrach_ ’, or a ‘Doctor’ as the British say it. 

The problem with how Bunny discovers this is that they stumble into the middle of a skirmish, dead and wounded lying everywhere, and instead of picking up his swords and charging into the middle of battle as Bunny expects, North kneels down next to the first wounded person he sees and starts checking them over, ripping the soldier’s clothing for temporary bandages. 

North does not have the rare healing gift, to close injuries with merely a touch, but he has a good eye, steady hands, and calm head for it. North works steadily through the field, saving those he can, walking past those he can’t with a sorrowful look, almost oblivious to the fighting, meandering across the territory lines like it doesn’t matter, aiding all he can. 

Bunny guards him, he has his staff, his daggers, and his boomerangs, but he finds the sharp edge of his tongue works better, barking orders at those who venture too close, getting them to fetch healers or retrieve the wounded off the field. 

He doesn’t care about who is fighting who or why, only that they’re idiots, many of them who are dying far from their homelands. North’s meager supplies quickly run out, and he starts snapping at Bunny for various plants: yarrow to pack the wounds, willow to numb the pain, aloe for gunpowder burns. 

Bunny grows sprigs of lavender for the calming scent at the heads of the wounded, rosemary for remembrance by the heads of the dead. The blood that soaks the ground is nutrient rich and the plants grow quickly. 

The battle calms, but North is relentless, visiting one healer’s tent, then another. His loud Russian voice gets answers on the Russian side of the line. It nearly gets them into trouble on the Alliance side, but there’s enough Brits mixed in with the French and Turks that Bunny’s broad Aussie accent works in their favour, gaining them access. 

Bunny’s gift with plants doesn’t hurt either. 

It is only after North is satisfied that he has done all he can that Bunny manages to coax him towards a pile of blankets that one of the Doctors pointed them to. By that point, both North and Bunny are swaying on their feet from exhaustion, barely keeping upright. North falls into them with a groan, asleep before his head can hit the ground. 

Bunny glares at him, then pulls off North’s boots and throws a blanket over his large slumbering form before laying down next to him. The air is warm enough to be comfortable, but the tent walls are thin, the wails and moans of the wounded and dying sharp on his ears, keeping him from slumber. 

It’s tempting to open a tunnel to escape the noise, but he hasn’t opened one since Pitch killed his Clan, the shadows of the tunnels coming alive and tearing the escaping to bits. The cries of the humans remind him too much of the screams of his family. 

He shifts around, pushing North onto his back, then uses North’s stomach as a pillow, his ears filled with the thub-thub of the human’s heartbeat, the woosh of his lungs, the gurgling of his empty stomach. North almost automatically begins snoring, the obnoxious noise like a wood saw covering everything else. 

It’s enough to allow exhaustion to pull Bunny under to rest, for a little while anyway.

* * *

They’re halfway to Siberia, or somewhere far out the back end of yonks when the snow storm hits. Bunny can’t remember ever being so cold, or having to pick ice out of his fur before, and he _hates_ it. 

North, of course, think’s it’s funny. 

Well, at least the yobbo didn’t while they were out in the blustery snow, but once they found shelter in a little shack that creaked and swayed with the force of the wind, then he started laughing. 

They still have all their provisions, although they’ll need to thaw and dry out, being coated in snow and ice the way they were. Bunny can’t stop shivering though, cursing himself for the n-th time since North casually commented that he felt the call of home, and Bunny had agreed to go along with for lack of anything better to do. 

“Bunny! You must learn to relax!” North laughs, sorting through his pack, down to his shirtsleeves as all his other outer layers are drying. “Come, ve have vodka and a blanket. Ve vill be fine.” 

“Says ya.” Bunny grumbles. North’s not even shivering, acting like he’s in a stroll somewhere in the Mediterranean. 

North chuckles in response, spreading his thick red coat against the ground and the wall, then sits down, his broad shoulders pinning the material to the wall. “Come, silly Bunny. Sit.” He says, patting the ground next to him. 

Bunny glances around, but he can’t come up with a better solution. And he’s _so_ cold. “Alright.” He agrees, hopping closer towards North’s large bulk. He’s still not used to being around people, interacting with them, _touching_ them. 

Thankfully, North says nothing as Bunny sits down next to him, watching Bunny with calm eyes and a knowing smirk. Bunny wrinkles his nose in annoyance back, sitting just close enough that his fur is barely brushing North’s arm. North spreads the spare, thankfully dry, blanket over both of them. 

“Now drink.” North instructs, opening the bottle and passing it to Bunny. Bunny shakes his head, not liking the scent. North rolls his eyes in return, “ _Za zdorovie!_ ” He proclaims, taking a large swig of the noxious clear fluid. ‘To our health’, one of the milder of North’s salutes while drinking. 

And rather ironic in their case. 

“Is not poisoned.” North rumbles, passing the bottle to Bunny one more time. “Drink. Ve stay here, out vait ze storm. Vodka keep our blood from freezing, blanket and company keep us varm.”

Well, when put that way.... Bunny takes the bottle, closes his eyes and takes a swig, like North had.

And promptly attempts to cough up a lung, the liquid burning all the way down. “What’s in there?” Bunny passes the bottle back. “Paint thinner?” 

“It has been used a such.” North agrees, taking the bottle back and drinking from it. “Sip it.” He instructs, passing it back again. “You are not used to such drinks. Vill put hair on your chest.” 

Bunny huffs. “In case y’hadn’t noticed mate-?” He was kind of covered in hair. 

North just laughs, waving off the comment. Bunny tries a smaller sip and it does go down a bit smoother this time. They pass the bottle back and forth, until Bunny starts giggling, feeling relaxed and mellow, afterwhich North refuses to give him the bottle back. But by that point, he’s curled against North, who has one arm wrapped around Bunny’s shoulders and is radiating enough heat that Bunny’s actually kind of comfortable.

It’s... not bad. Not ideal, but not bad either. He drifts off to sleep to the howl of the frozen wind outside and North’s quietly singing Russian drinking songs in a surprisingly nice voice.

* * *

“Up sprang the swagman and jumped in the waterhole, Drownin' himself by the Coolibah tree-” Bunny croons as he and North stumble down the street “-And his voice can be heard as it sings in the billabongs, Who'll come a waltzin’ Matilda with me~"

“I haf no idea vat you just said.” North grumbled. His friend is depressingly sober, which is no good, no good at all. 

It takes a few tries, but Bunny catches North’s face in his hands, pushing his cheeks together until North’s lips purse out like a fish. He grins as he does it a few more times, moving North’s mouth in time to the song. “Who'll come a waltzin’ Matilda, my darlin’, Who'll come a waltzin’ Matilda wit’ me?” 

“Bunny.” North sighs, removing Bunny’s hands and propelling them forward. Bunny trips over his own big feet, nearly ending up on the ground, but North catches him. It’s funny, so funny. He can always count on North to catch him. 

No, not always... There was a time when he didn’t know North, when it was just Bunny, all alone. 

He likes London, loves London, the sense of ancient history, the way the roads twist and turn in completely illogical ways that remind him of the tunnels the Pooka lived in. The green patches of parks, with the trees and plants growing everywhere. The feeling of life everywhere he turns. It feels like home to him. 

It’s been decades now since he met North, but the ache still has not faded away. He misses his family, his Clan. When there was more than two. 

He hates his mind sometimes, because it seems like he can never, ever, _ever_ forget. And the world is too bright, too harsh, too unforgiving to let him. 

But he has North, and North is his best friend, his companion, who is too loud and big, has really stinky farts and Bunny wouldn’t trade him for anything. 

He spins around, grabbing North’s face again, bringing them nose to nose. North’s blue eyes kind of blur into one very large blue and white one, like a fuzzy egg. “I love ya.” He says very slowly and deliberately, because it’s important that North understand this, that North never ever go anywhere that Bunny can’t follow. 

North makes a confused noise, and the world shifts and Bunny quickly grabs North around the shoulders, holding on to him to stay upright. “You’re m’brother.” 

He can feel North’s arms wrap around him, but not crushing him tightly. “ _Da._ ” North agrees, his voice thick and fond. 

Bunny grins, his chest feeling warm and happy. And then he turns, sliding out of North’s grip to vomit into the gutter, the remains of dinner and the bad gin he drank. 

North sighs, crouching down to rub Bunny’s back as he pukes. It feels good and he can’t help but to arch a little into the contact. “Come, Bunny.” He says softly once Bunny stops and wipes his face off with a handkerchief. He managed to miss splattering his clothing, a minor miracle in and of itself. “We go home now.” 

Bunny nods, allowing North to coax him up on his back. North is solid and warm against his chest and Bunny rests his head on North’s shoulder, trusting him to get them back to Baker Street safely. 

He doesn’t remember the trip there, but when he wakes up to the harsh bright sun the next morning, there’s a bucket next to the bed, a pitcher of water and a glass next to his head, and North flat on his back, snoring next to him.

* * *

Bunny wakes up, stomach cramping, head aching, feeling generally miserable and wishing he were dead. 

Maybe not _dead_ dead, but at least a little dead. It’s better than it was last night.

But he hates this. He tells people, no meat. He can’t eat meat. He’s allergic to meat. Meat makes him sick. No, it doesn’t matter what kind. Yes, it matters if they’re cooked together. No, he can’t just ‘pick it out’. **No. Meat.**

At least North had figured out what was going on, even if it had taken a couple of hours before his stomach started to rebel. Jack had eaten the same dish Bunny had and been fine, which had helped narrow down his symptoms from potential deadly poisoning to food Intolerance. 

Although that hadn’t made life any less comfortable. And worse yet, it had taken him out of the game for the night. North had stayed as Jack and Tooth rushed off to find out what happened, discovering it wasn’t accidental and apprehending the villain. 

To add to the indignity, it turns out it was **Rabbit** that had been slipped into his curry. He’d been roofied by the same species he resembled. 

Bunny sincerely wishes last nights agony on the person who had done that to him. 

Something stirs next to him and he glances down to find Jack curled up next to him, lifting his pale head to peer at Bunny. “Hey.” Jack smiles sleepily at him, eyes half-lidded, hair mussed and looking absolutely delectable. “How you feeling?”

Bunny’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile, too aware of the taste of bile in his mouth, because he’d really like to kiss Jack right now. “Better.” He says instead, because he’s not kissing anyone until he has a chance to brush his teeth, at least twice. 

“Good.” Jack mumbles, head dropping back down to rest on Bunny’s chest, curling his arms and legs around Bunny like he’s afraid Bunny’s going to flee from him. Bunny wraps an arm around Jack’s narrow shoulders, belatedly realising that his bed is strangely full. 

Mary’s asleep on the other side of Jack, her brown hair a tangled mess. He twists around to find North at his back, curled up on his side away from Bunny, which accounts for the lack of snoring. He can see a green feathered hand and a glimpse of a wing, Tooth asleep in her husband’s arms. It was kind of surprising that they all fit in his bed, even with them sleeping side ways on the bed so Bunny can lean over the side to puke if he needs to.

There’s a glow from the corner of the room, and Sandy’s floating about the chair next to the door, fast asleep, tiny ‘z’s floating above his head. 

Hail, hail, the gang’s all here. 

Bunny smiles to himself, settling back down in bed. His head still aches and his stomach is tender, but he feels better than he has in a long time, his family tucked in close all around him. 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> -Using the first published 1903 lyrics for Waltzing Matilda. It's about a hobo who gets caught stealing sheep and commits suicide by jumping in a creek rather than being arrested and hung. Explanation of the words: <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEVKUE_ma00>
> 
> It’s actually an anachronism, the song was written in 1895, and East and I figured out that North and Tooth got married in 1891, which means that Bunny’s channelling it from the future.
> 
> 1840-1850 there were a series of Massacres in the Gisspland region of Victoria, Australia as the native Aborigines fought the invading English Settlers, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of natives. [ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gippsland_massacres](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gippsland_massacres). Also see <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Australian_Aboriginal_massacres>
> 
> 1853 – 1856 The Crimean War was fought over the declining Ottoman Empire. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crimean_War>. Yes, we now have a working timetable for the story! \o/
> 
> Bunny's reaction to meat is based off my own to pork. A 'Food Intolerance' basically means lacking the enzymes necessary to digest certain foods, eating which results in lovin' the loo for many hours as your digestive system rebels. Think of it as an overnight case of food poisoning. Not deadly, but far from pleasant. >P


End file.
